


Ex Facie

by meeks00



Category: Suits - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-17
Updated: 2011-08-17
Packaged: 2017-10-22 17:39:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/240755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meeks00/pseuds/meeks00
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mike always manages to find a way around Donna’s front desk security detail and into Harvey’s office, where he touches things, with his bare hands, without asking.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ex Facie

**Author's Note:**

> **Spoilers:** Up to 1x05 Bail Out.  
> 

  
People don’t usually touch items so obviously on display, especially ones with easily wearable autographs scrawled across their surfaces – ones that are therefore clearly very expensive.

Harvey’s associate, however, always manages to find a way around Donna’s front desk security detail and into Harvey’s office, where he touches things, with his bare hands, without asking.

The last time Mike touched his things (a signed baseball), Harvey fired him. Of course, Mike had been high at the time, which was the main reason for dismissal, and the circumstances thereafter dictated his being rehired, but still – _fired_.

Mike really should have learned by now, after that incident and Harvey’s subsequent confrontation with Louis, that Harvey’s things are his and no one else’s to mess around with.

But now, as Harvey eyes the basketball Mike is attempting (and failing) to spin on a forefinger, he understands that not only is Mike’s thing _not_ reading people, it’s also being _touchy._

“Isn’t there something you’re supposed to be doing?” he asks.

Mike grins after what can't be more than two seconds of successful spinning before glancing over the ball he stills between his hands. “What?”

“Like work?” Harvey goes on. “Or anything _other_ than manhandling my priceless memorabilia?”

When Mike suffers a realization, it is painfully evident, hitting him much as a bullet between the eyes might if his expressions are anything to go by. Harvey frowns to cover what could pass as a warm thread of reluctant affection running through him at seeing that becoming-familiar expression.

“Oh,” Mike says quickly, setting the basketball back down in its cradle by the window. He adjusts it a moment later so that the autograph is facing forward once again. “Sorry. Yeah, there’s — I’ll just — ” He jerks a thumb toward the door, as if confirming the course of action he should take.

Harvey nods slowly. “Yeah,” he says, drawing out the word. “Why don’t you.”

He waits until Mike is out of view before allowing a small grin. Picking up the basketball, he looks it over carefully, checking it over for damage, and then he tries a spin – just because.

When he looks up, Donna is smirking at him through the glass door, so he replaces the ball with a roll of his eyes.

__

At this point, the case is all but won, requiring only the judge’s gavel hitting wood to solidify the verdict.

But the case is not the issue here.

That Mike is still answering calls — _those_ calls – however, is.

Harvey’s life constantly bleeds into his personal life. If he has consequently learned to respect deals, agreements, and understandings as if an official contract has been signed and notarized, he expects others to do so as well.

“There’s nothing you can do to stop me,” Mike says.

But Harvey does just that.

He presses both hands firmly on the kid’s chest to keep him from moving past, from following that track he had seemed so determined to abandon when they first met at the Chilton.

They’d made a deal then. Harvey’s only here, having it out on the street in front of the courthouse instead of gloating around the office over another win, because he’s trying to make sure Mike honors that deal.

He catches Mike’s quick look down before he pulls his hands away, and the fact that what is seen and understood once is forever committed to memory settles in Harvey’s mind. He wonders for only an instant what the implications of such a gesture will mean later, but for now he says, “Then tell me what the hell’s going on.”

And there, again, is that stricken expression that emerges when Mike suffers from some sort of realization. He begins to speak.

Despite how much Harvey might want to repress it, even the latest bullshit that deadbeat dealer Mike calls a friend has gotten himself into isn’t enough to hide the fact that the thread of fondness that had begun to wind its way through Harvey’s gut has spun into a thick, winding rope, anchoring him here in this place he’s unwittingly settled himself.

“He’s my oldest friend, Harvey,” Mike concludes, as if repetition of the only fact of the relationship will lend it any further credence.

Harvey doesn’t have the time to go into how mistaken Mike is about that or to consider the uncomfortable feeling in his gut. Instead, he quickly calculates his options and leads the way to the car.

As Jessica said before, Harvey has made his bed. And there is no mere lying in it left to do, just goddamn winning.

That it comes at the expense of Mike cutting his oldest friend out of his life, then so be it. It’s no skin off Harvey’s back.

And if it also happens to be for the overall good of his associate, well, then that’s just unintentional collateral.

Harvey thinks he really _should_ look into writing Hallmark cards.

__

Harvey’s made a career out of head-on collisions with nasty realizations, usually with the opposition on the receiving end of such fall-outs mid-trial. However, when the tables are turned, he proves himself a master of the dodge and deflect method.

Translating courtroom practices into his out-of-office life occurred almost without his say-so. Almost. It’s effective in court, certainly, and it is more than effective outside of it as well.

When the lines begin to blur between work and his personal life, however, is where things become tricky.

They’re in the town car on their way to visit a client when Harvey notices the loose thread.

“Is that the same jacket you ripped when running from Trevor’s friends?”

Mike glances down and self-consciously straightens the lapels. “Uh, yeah. Why?”

He looks so genuinely confused that Harvey thinks it might be all right to feel a little less than annoyed. “Why are you wearing it?” His tone makes it sound as if that should have been complicit with the initial question (it _should_ have been).

Mike makes a peace-keeping ‘take it down a notch’ gesture with his hands and raises his eyebrows in the way that means he thinks Harvey is obsessing over a triviality. “I fixed it. It’s fine,” he says in a mock-consoling tone. Such reactions always make it apparent that Mike still has a lot to learn about the job apart from the actual work.

“No,” Harvey replies slowly. “It’s not. It’s ripped.”

“And sewn back together again.” Mike holds the flap of his jacket up as high as it will go so they can look at the abomination together. There is a hint of the inner material visible between the sloppy seams. “So what’s the problem?”

“Did you go to my suit guy for that?” Harvey asks.

Mike just looks at him blankly.

“Didn’t think so. It takes weeks to settle an appointment with Rene, and he told me he won’t see you again without a chaperone, which means you did _that,_ ” he points, “by _yourself,_ which is _not_ fine.”

“Is it the fact that I tore it in the first place because of Trevor or that I didn’t pay hundreds of dollars to repair it that bothers you most?” Mike asks, dropping the jacket and smoothing his hands down the front.

Harvey is not often surprised. The job comes with always knowing and anticipating what the opposition will throw at you, and every move on both sides is calculated to hit hard and hurt your case the most.

Harvey is good at his job. He is great, awesome, amazing at his job. He is not often surprised.

He is now, though.

To save himself from replying, Harvey reaches out and tugs on the thread until it comes loose, causing the pocket to slowly peel away from the rest of the jacket.

He expects a protest over the established point, or perhaps a sarcastic retort, but instead, when he glances up, he finds that Mike is avidly watching the movement as Harvey pulls the thread free and dangles it between them.

And then he turns that look on Harvey.

It isn’t that Mike caught him off guard with that remark (he did). And it isn’t that Harvey doesn’t have a comeback (he doesn’t).

It’s just that not much surprises Harvey these days, because he’s usually as prepared for whatever life throws at him as he is with his opposition in court. Usually.

On the receiving end of such direct scrutiny, however – of an expression just shy of that which Mike always wears when suffering some sort of realization, yet one infinitely more stricken – Harvey finds that he’s suddenly floundering.

And though it’s just the two of them there, for some reason Harvey feels as though he’s on spotlight before a full court that’s waiting for a defense, which, for the first time, he’s not sure he’s able to provide.

He recovers just enough to hand over the thread, effectively forcing Mike to move slightly back. (Dodge.)

He says, “First playing with dolls, now sewing your own clothes. When I said I thought you fit a type, I didn’t know at the time just how dead to rights I was.” (Deflect.)

“Come on, Harvey,” Mike says. He leans back in his seat and swings his arm up behind their seats, a familiar ease present there in the car between them that Harvey had initially thought existed solely within the confines of his office. “Admit it. You care about me.”

Harvey pointedly eyes the fingers that _almost_ brush the shoulder of his suit. They don’t move away, and Harvey realizes with vague interest that, yes, Mike may forever retain information he’s read or seen or understood once, but that doesn’t mean he’ll always choose to react to it as he’s learned he should.

“I don’t,” Harvey replies automatically, even though a part of him thinks (traitorously) that repetition won’t solidify something into fact.

Mike just grins. His fingers graze over Harvey's shoulder.

__

Denise Rodriguez owns an exclusive jewelry boutique – one well-known among those who can and do spend as much on a pair of earrings as another would on a modest vehicle.

Harvey brings Mike along to the site visit to show him what a top-tier client is like in her own environment, but also to see the kid’s inevitable reaction to being in the showroom.

The open displays and glimmering precious stones don’t compare to the shine in the kid’s eyes when they enter, and Denise shoots Harvey an amused look as she takes them both in.

“Wow,” Mike says over a breathless laugh.

“Do try to at least _appear_ to have a semblance of professionalism, would you?” Harvey says quietly, leaning close to be heard. Though in all honesty, he’s enjoying his associate’s slack-jawed amazement as much as the client’s ego is.

Mike looks at him, eyes dropping –

and Harvey steps back.

Mike clears his throat and holds out a hand, which Denise takes stiffly. One pump and Mike quickly disengages, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

“Help yourself,” Denise says, gesturing indifferently. If she wasn’t a long-time acquaintance and client, Harvey might have taken her apparent apathy at face value.

Mike stares around the room, and Harvey tries not to be so amused.

“Look around,” he clarifies. “See if anything catches your eye.”

Mike turns his incredulous look on Harvey next, but Denise is already moving to her desk, so Harvey follows. They’ve a nasty pre-nup case to discuss, after all.

As they talk, Harvey focuses on the client of course, but a fraction of his attention rests with Mike, not only because he isn’t exactly confident that the kid won’t drop something in his fear of expensive things, but there’s also something else there aside from shock over Denise’s misconstrued offer.

Mike shoots a quick glance at them before swiping his hands down his trousers. He carefully picks up a yellow diamond necklace with both hands, fingers light as if he’s never so much as seen anything so fragile and expensive, let alone owned one.

Harvey’s almost positive he hasn’t, though.

He realizes, as he watches the way Mike looks at the necklace with a gaze more piercing than his touch had been, that it isn’t at all about being touchy with others’ things. It is where he draws a line between curiosity and familiarity that defines what Mike will or will not do – or touch.

Harvey knows this, because he knows people. And he’s getting to know Mike.

His office is almost a second home at this point, thus Mike’s easy comfort with the environment and Harvey’s things. That such comfort has begun to extend to other areas is a topic Harvey won’t let himself consider further just yet.

The kid’s reluctance to touch anything here in the showroom, on the other hand, is another thing entirely.

It is also more a testament to Mike’s comfort with his new life than it is about anything else. A part of it is insurance – one item here probably costs more than most of his belongings put together, if not a year or two’s rent besides. If he were to damage anything, nothing in his possession would cover the cost in damages.

And so he leaves them be.

Harvey began to have this understanding after the situation surrounding the incriminating black briefcase before Mike gave it up for a few fancier suits, but more so than that, the understanding that there could be no such fall-back if he wanted to succeed with Pearson Hardman and accept this new track in life.

If his prior circumstances and reactions to situations are anything to go by, Mike is not a man accustomed to things going right or going well. Hence his need to always have an out – in the form of a briefcase, for instance – should things turn sour. And hence his reluctance to even touch anything he would not have the ability to cover, or fix, should anything break.

So it falls to Harvey to teach him that such a mindset can hold only limit potential – in life and in court.

Before a jury and a judge and a client, there is no out or fall-back, only a win. In court, losses are not even a possibility. It’s a philosophy that Harvey lives by, and it’s the reason he’s as successful as he is.

Mike will learn.

__

There’s a break in the Rodriguez case. Harvey’s still in his condo because it’s 1:30 a.m., but Mike calls anyway and says it’s important. For the first time, Harvey relinquishes the directions to his home, excusing it simply as a sacrifice of the job for an important client.

When Mike arrives, his knock is barely audible, and he hesitates when the door opens, awkwardly shuffling for a moment with an armful of paperwork and what looks like a paper plate there in the mix.

“Hey,” he says.

Harvey gestures expansively in welcome and steps aside to let him in.

He is fully aware of the impact his interior décor – and the floor-to-ceiling window view – has on his guests. His home is essentially an extension of his office; thus, when he has a skyline view of the city at Pearson Hardman, his condo has a lot to live up to by comparison. If he’s in a humble mood, he’ll say it is merely up to par. If he’s being realistic, however, he’ll say it is indulgence to the point of overkill.

Mike’s face as he looks around makes it worth it. “You _live_ here?” he asks, as if there is any possibility that the answer could be ‘no.’ Harvey will have to break of him of that habit before he allows the kid into full-fledged court.

Slanting a dry glance at Mike, Harvey pulls a beer from the fridge. “I’d offer you one,” he says instead of replying, “but even though I’m moderately convinced of your aptitude for law, I’m not entirely convinced they actually allow you to see rated-R movies.”

He eyes Mike’s appearance from head to toe, pointedly noting the missing jacket, the forever missing vest, and the untied tie hanging unevenly around his neck.

If Harvey happens to note that the disarrayed trousers are pulling on his ass a bit, well, Mike’s too occupied with looking down at himself to notice. Harvey can easily excuse the observation away as just that – and observation, because as the top closer in the city, it’s his job to be aware of important things.

When Mike looks up again, he shrugs indifferently. “You know, Harvey, I could almost take that as a backhanded compliment as much as an insult.”

Harvey reaches out and – he’ll blame this later on the hour – tugs lightly on the ridiculously skinny tie to straighten it. “Don’t.”

Mike smiles, as if that’s a cue to go ahead and do exactly what Harvey has just ordered him not to. “Here,” he says, holding out half of his papers.

Harvey eyes the offering, then waves his beer. “My hands are full,” he says. He takes a slow sip.

Mike watches, as if confused, before he coughs and looks away, turning to the living room and making a bee-line for the couch. Harvey takes note.

He absently wonders if it’s the similarity to his office, a familiarity breeds comfort sort of thing, that allows Mike to immediately lounge there on the leather L-seat with an apparent sense of familiarity, especially when he always walks into new (and extravagant) places with obvious discomfort.

Harvey shrugs the thought off and heads to where Mike is spreading papers around him like he’s making a nest.

Later, when Mike winds down about his findings, he begins to fidget. His eyes wander around the condo, and his hands find their way to a picture frame sitting on the side table.

In the middle of talking about a few provisions in the latest company’s charter that will help them win Denise’s case, Mike cuts off and asks, “Is this your girlfriend?” His thumb is pressed over a woman’s face.

Harvey sets his beer down on a coaster and glances at the photo from over a sheaf of notes. “Is this relevant to the case?” he replies. He looks back down at the notes in clear dismissal of the topic.

As has become usual at this point, Mike ignores the cue and says, “You should bring her around to the office. She’s hot.”

Harvey tries not to be amused, he really does. “That’s my sister,” he says evenly. He sets the papers down on the table.

Mike almost drops the frame in his haste to divest himself of the evidence of his gaff. “Oh – um. I mean she’s not — she’s — ” He pauses, swallows. “Good genes,” he says finally with a decisive nod. Instead of staring at the photo or at Harvey, he looks at the beer on the table as if he’s sorely in need of one of his own.

He probably is.

Harvey pushes slowly to a stand.

“Where are you going? An observation isn’t a fireable offence, is it?” Mike calls as Harvey heads into the kitchen.

Harvey draws out a bottle of scotch and two tumblers.

“You know, Mike,” Harvey says, pouring a few fingers’ worth in each glass, “I could almost take that as a backhanded compliment as much as an observation of my sister’s good looks.”

When Harvey reaches the living room, Mike accepts his glass with only a mildly suspicious expression. He takes a quick gulp, like he’s chugging cheap beer.

Harvey takes a small sip of his own, partially to enjoy the taste, partially to lead (pointedly) by example.

Mike coughs again and takes a smaller sip next.

He learns, Harvey thinks with amusement.

“It’s all good,” Mike says after another small, quick sip.

“I should hope so. That’s blue label scotch.”

“No, I meant — ”

“No?” Harvey repeats, enjoying giving the kid a hard time.

Instead of becoming flustered, Mike just allows a slow smiles spread across his face. “No – I meant it as a compliment.” He lounges back into the couch, papers crinkling around him.

“Huh,” Harvey says. He drinks down his scotch in a bigger gulp.

__

It doesn’t take long for Harvey to break out the entire bottle. And of course, after that, it takes even less time to find himself in a compromising situation.

In the middle of asking for directions to the restroom, Mike trips over the coffee table, and Harvey stands up to steady him – and to look at him with exasperation, of course.

He shouldn’t be surprised that Mike takes the gesture as permission to use him as a crutch, attempting right himself with one hand on Harvey’s shoulder and other against his chest. And he’s honestly not surprised that the kid is a happy drunk, all big smiles and big gestures.

Harvey had concluded before that such easy physicality (previously only with his inanimate belongings) was attributed to a mix of curiosity and familiarity on Mike’s part – with particular environments, such as Harvey’s office and his town car and now his condo.

But tonight, he’s finding that it is also perhaps (absolutely) due to something else. There is one common factor there, and Harvey would have to be blind to miss it at this point – what with Mike finally steadying himself but refusing to let go, turning that bright grin upward.

Harvey takes a decisive step back and schools his face, which he focuses on Mike’s overly attentive expression. (Dodge.)

“How cute. The puppy can’t handle his liquor,” he says. “This is another reason why you don’t get to sit at the adult table.” (Deflect.)

Mike ignores him and steps closer to make up for lost ground. “I — might have actually stumbled across all of this a few hours ago.”

Harvey tilts his head in question.

Mike takes another step forward, so close now that his knee rests partially between the ‘v’ of Harvey’s legs. He fiddles with the buttons of Harvey’s henly.

“Before we left the office, even. And – don’t mistake me – when I say ‘stumbled across,’ I mean ‘worked out,’ because I’m genius.” He looks up briefly to shoot Harvey a cheeky expression.

“What?”

“Denise’s pre-nup,” Mike replies, clearing his throat and dropping his eyes to Harvey’s mouth.

Harvey can’t help it that he licks his lips. Suddenly his mouth is dry.

“I figured out a way around the 50-50 split at around seven. I just — I didn’t bring it up then.”

“Why not?”

“I meant to, but not at the office. And then I did mean to call earlier, but it took me a while to work up to it,” Mike explains. He shoots Harvey a glance before dropping his gaze again. “Also, I’m not that drunk.”

It doesn’t take Harvey’s knowledge of people – of their actions and body language and social cues – to understand what Mike had trouble working up to.

So he reaches out to cup Mike’s face, rests his hand against the lower line of the jaw, his thumb pressed lightly against the soft flesh beneath Mike’s chin.

The way Mike looks at him then is similar to how he looked when they first met, a suitcase falling open and dripping bags of weed over the carpet. It’s a strange mix of ‘I’m sorry I’m sorry’ and ‘Please let how I’m looking at you make you overlook my mistakes.’

But any way that Harvey looks at this, as he thinks momentarily about the many codes of conduct tonight is taking them swiftly past, he finds that he can’t see any mistakes here to overlook at all.

The first kiss isn’t careful, not exactly, nor is it particularly heated. But Harvey does find it feels strangely familiar, like things are suddenly slotting effortlessly into place after he’d forgotten where they were supposed to go. It feels almost like relief.

He takes in the way Mike breathes out lightly when their lips touch, when he opens his mouth and lets Harvey’s tongue meet his. He tastes like scotch and maybe Chinese food, and Harvey tries not to smile against the kiss.

He takes in the way Mike’s chest is flat and lean beneath his hand as he slides it over the ridges of Mike’s ribs and presses it against the small of his back, takes in the way the muscles around Mike’s jaw release their tension against Harvey’s palm.

Mike makes a small sound against Harvey’s mouth, putting both of his hands on Harvey’s chest. When Harvey pulls away, Mike makes another sound, this one in protest.

“I’m trying to get you to move,” he says defensively, as if Harvey’s pulling away is some sort of punishment he needs to defend against. He nods pointedly at the open bedroom door over Harvey’s shoulder, and Harvey realizes with a rush of heat in his chest that the expression on Mike’s face is one the kid undoubtedly picked up from him.

“Trying to tell _me_ what to do now?” he says, raising a brow. And there goes the last of Mike’s reserve, his grin blossoming across his face again.

When Harvey kisses Mike a second time, it is anything but careful, and it’s more than just heated. Mike’s hands find their way into Harvey’s hair, then down over his chest, and down further to the button of his trousers.

Harvey’s a little busy trying to navigate them safely to the bedroom, but that makes him lose a bit of his coordination. They bump into the door, and Mike starts to laugh, and Harvey can’t help it that he starts laughing too.

He walks them backwards to the bed, unresisting as Mike surprisingly takes the initiative with firm and steady hands, pushing until Harvey eases onto the bed. But Harvey’s not really one to take anything on his back, so he rolls them over, nudging his knee between Mike’s legs.

“Your hair’s soft,” he mutters as Harvey trails sucking kisses along his jaw and over his neck. “Always looks so – ah – fixed and – _Jesus_.” Harvey pulls away for the briefest of moments, just long enough for Mike to shoot him a dry, amused look and say, “If you compare yourself to Jesus Christ right now, Harvey, I’ll — ”

Harvey slips his hand beneath the waistband of Mike’s briefs, his hand dry and rough and firmly pumping Mike’s cock. “You’ll what, rookie?”

“Ahh,” Mike groans, dropping his head heavily back into the pillows, back arching as his eyes slip shut. “Nothing. I’m — not going to do anything.” He jerks his hips up against Harvey’s, his hands coming around to add more pressure to the friction.

“I didn’t think so,” Harvey says. He pulls his hand out, causing Mike to make a protesting sound, and he pulls away to tug Mike’s briefs down his legs, then he kicks off his own. He licks his hand and replaces it, pressing his own hardening cock against Mike’s thigh.

It already smells like sex and sweat, and Mike’s cock is leaking precome. The heat that builds low in Harvey’s stomach keeps on burning, burning, when what they’re aiming for is relief and release and

— suddenly Mike stills beneath him and says, “Harvey.” His voice is quiet and more telling than the hint of uncertainty that seeps into his expression.

Like clockwork, Harvey thinks in exasperation. He considers how to best let the kid know that in no way is this possibly going end badly, not after everything they’ve been through so far. After all the mistakes Mike has already made, he honestly can’t seriously think that this is going to be one of them.

“Are you sure?” Mike asks then, eying him carefully for a reaction.

Harvey bets with that familiar thread – that anchoring _rope_ – of affection winding in his chest that this is the expression the kid wore when asking a virgin for consent on his goddamn prom night. He laughs, because he can’t help it. “A little late to be asking that, isn’t it?”

“Uh huh,” Mike replies slowly, that uncertainty bleeding off of his face behind his adorable eagerness. “OK, it’s just – we’ll need a few things first.” He shifts, nudging Harvey off him, and rolls over to the side of the bed to dig through his clothes. Harvey admires the obvious show until Mike resurfaces with lube and a condom. “What?” he asks, settling back into place as Harvey gives him a look.

“How cute. The puppy came prepared for once.”

It’s amusing how quickly Mike can go from eager to indignant. “I’m always prepared! Almost always,” he says.

“Right,” Harvey replies, doubt evident in his voice. He takes the lube and the condom and presses a hand over the kid’s chest, forcing him back to lie prone on the bed again. Mike submits to the movement because, as Harvey’s coming to find, he always does.

“How about we see how prepped I already am, Harvey,” Mike says then, pulling him down too and nudging their hips together. “And let me know if you think I’m prepared enough for _this._ ”

Harvey leans down until their foreheads are resting against each other. “Hey, genius,” he says, spreading Mike’s legs further and pressing between them. “Do we really need to have that conversation about you interrupting me? _Now?_ ”

And when Mike grins, Harvey takes it as read that it won’t happen again – at least not for the rest of the night.

__

The next morning, Harvey only wakes up because he feels cool air touch his skin as Mike begins to move away. He turns his head to the side and watches as Mike’s stiffens and stares at Harvey’s face as if he’s been caught at something.

Harvey thinks Mike ticks like clockwork.

“I shouldn’t have — this is — ” Mike cuts himself off and breathes out slowly.

“Calm down,” Harvey says, reaching out to pat his chest lightly. “If your boss is late to work, he won’t notice you’re missing.” He considers for a moment. “And if your boss is still in bed and thinks you should be too, you should – oh, I don’t know – maybe stay in bed.”

Mike runs a hand over his forehead and looks at Harvey with growing panic on his face. “We just violated at least seventeen codes in the Pearson Hardman Employee Guidebook.” He pauses, then says, “More if you consider the number of times we’ve violated each code.”

“We violate those codes every day,” Harvey replies with a laugh. “What’s a few more added to the list?”

“I can get fired for this.”

Harvey presses his lips together and shoots him a derisive look. “You can get fired for a few other things too.”

Mike coughs out a surprised laugh and drops his hand. Harvey catches it, pulling on it for a moment before letting go.

“You knew exactly what you were getting into when you booty called — ” Mike makes a sound in protest, but Harvey talks over him. “ — when you _booty called_ me last night. And you I both know you knew exactly how many codes you meant to violate. So why don’t you tell me what’s really going on here?”

And for all that Mike is constantly surprising, Harvey finds that this is where he is also unsurprisingly predictable.

“It’s just – I’m kind of putting all of my eggs in one basket, here,” Mike says. He sighs and flops onto his back, his hand slapping loudly against Harvey’s side. He doesn’t seem to notice, and Harvey only winces a little bit. “You’re my boss and – do my ego a favor here and don’t correct me if I’m wrong – but you’re also my friend, and — ”

He cuts off again and sits up abruptly, scooting quickly to the edge of the bed and leaning over where his clothes are piled on the floor.

“— and now you’re — ” Mike pauses, waving his hands around as if he can’t find the words. He finally just shakes his head.

Harvey watches him pull on his shirt and his pants, and then loop the tie around his neck, and he notices with amusement and a strange, overwhelming rush of affection that there is an awkward cowlick at the crown of Mike’s head.

“Tell me this is OK,” Mike says finally, turning around. “Tell me that, by doing this, I haven’t messed up the one good thing I have in my life right now.”

As Harvey takes in his earnest expression, he thinks about how Mike is always reluctant to dive headfirst into any situation without a backup plan, without an out. And Harvey understands then that Mike came here last night without any contingency plan whatsoever, at least if his current state of panic is anything to go by.

Mike wears his emotions and thoughts on his sleeve, which makes for a terrible poker player, a questionable lawyer, but essentially a good man overall. He doesn’t feel that he should have anything to hide, and even though Harvey may be one of the most cynical bastards in the city, that’s one thing he won’t ever disparage.

And there, Harvey suddenly understands that, in paying such close attention to the way Mike takes in every new detail about the life Harvey has begun to (has chosen to) share with him, and for all that he watches every realization (with more than just a little interest) wash over Mike’s face, there are still a few evident things he needed to realize about himself.

Harvey pushes up onto his elbows. “Do you remember when we talked about ‘getting it?’” he asks.

Mike stares.

“Scratch that. The talk we had about _not_ getting it?”

When the tense lines of Mike’s face begin smooth out, Harvey sits up and walks across the bed on his knees. It turns out that his associate is not as slow on the uptake as he’d originally thought.

“I might recall a few conversations related to that topic. Yes,” Mike says with a growing smile.

He eyes Harvey then with what is a come-hither expression if Harvey’s ever seen one. And Harvey’s seen _many._ (But this is one that matters.)

Then Mike says, “Do _you_ remember when we talked about the Mr. I-Don’t-Give-A-Crap thing? And how I don’t buy it?”

Harvey laughs.

Looking smug, Mike stuffs his hands in his pockets. “Admit it,” he says, turning on his heel in a twirl. “You care about me. Skinny ties and cheap suits and all.” He spreads his hands out then in a cocky, I-just-closed-that-case gesture.

Harvey merely allows a small grin. He reaches out, gripping both loose ends of that ridiculous skinny tie and tugging Mike close again. “OK,” he concedes. “You actually _might_ be starting to get it.”

 _fin_   



End file.
